The Nun's Tale: An Owen Archer Mystery

by Candace Robb

  By the time Thoresby descended to break his fast, Ravenser and Louth were already before the fire in the great hall, dipping bread in honey and discussing their plans for the day.

  ‘I shall spend the morning at St Leonard’s doing battle,’ Ravenser was saying. He was master of St Leonard’s Hospital. ‘The monks oppose me in the sale of two corodies, but they admit that there will be shortfalls by Michaelmas.’

  Louth sniffed. ‘Hospitals. I cannot abide such places. You were a saint to accept the post.’

  Ravenser laughed. ‘Hardly a saint, Nicholas. I rarely go in the infirmary. My business is with the brothers.’

  ‘Corodies are an excellent source of income. What do they propose instead?’

  ‘Economies, to get through the crisis.’ Ravenser nodded at Louth’s laugh. ‘You see the folly of such thinking, why can’t they? They refuse to admit that the Petercorn and the income from the manor farms are steadily falling. They shall not improve until we are free of pestilence and blessed with good harvests for a while. Economies now will only prolong the problem.’

  Thoresby, tired of his nephew’s frequent tirades about the backward economics of the Augustinians of St Leonard’s, made a noisy entrance as he joined them at table. ‘Are your retainers set to any tasks today, Nicholas?’

  Louth straightened. ‘Doubling up the guard at the abbey gates as they have been doing, Your Grace.’

  ‘I would like two of them to talk with Alfred, learn all they can about where the assault occurred, and then go look round, talk to the folk who live there, find out if anyone saw or heard anything, knows anything.’

  Louth rose. ‘I shall see to it at once, Your Grace.’

  Ravenser dabbed at his sticky hands. ‘What about Owen Archer? Should he perhaps be with them?’

  Thoresby shook his head. ‘I have other plans for him. He will be off to Leeds on the morrow. I want him to talk with the Calverleys. Find out all he can about Joanna. Why the family disowned her.’

  Louth had almost reached the door. Now he turned round. ‘Your Grace, might I accompany him to Leeds?’

  Thoresby sat back in his chair, steepling his hands and peering at Nicholas de Louth over them. ‘Why?’

  Louth returned to the table. He stood by Thoresby, his fingertips pressing into the table. ‘I feel responsible for much of this situation. I wish to do what I can.’

  ‘Archer is quite competent.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Louth cleared his throat and kept his eyes on Thoresby’s hands. ‘I thought I might learn something by observing him, Your Grace.’

  Thoresby considered Louth’s pampered paunch and fussy clothes. He could not imagine him riding with Archer. ‘I doubt he will be keen for your company.’

  Louth took a step closer. ‘I pray you suggest it. He can but refuse.’

  Thoresby shrugged. ‘I shall suggest it. Get your men to work at once – in case Archer surprises me and agrees.’

  Louth smiled, bobbed his head and hurried from the room.

  The day was overcast, cooler than it had been of late, the high clouds holding no rain. John Thoresby sat on the low wall separating the kitchen garden from the formal garden and looked back towards the house. The paths of the kitchen garden were edged in santolina and hardy lavender. Camomile blossoms gave off an apple scent even though they were closed up against the morning chill. Bees already buzzed among the borage blossoms. Thoresby looked up at the archbishop’s palace, two storeys of well-matched stone with small glazed windows, a third of whitewashed wattle and daub with wax parchment windows for the servants. It had been a beautiful house, worthy of entertaining even the King. Not so lovely now. Thoresby approved only essential repairs now that he stayed here infrequently. Because the dean and chapter of York Minster had become increasingly jealous of their autonomy, Thoresby usually chose Bishopthorpe as his residence when seeing to business in York. It was several miles south of the city, but close enough, and it was even lovelier than this, with gardens rolling down to the river.

  He was a fortunate man to have palaces to choose from – he had several more, scattered about the countryside and one even in Beverley. It was a great privilege to be Archbishop of York. He sat in the King’s Parliament, ruled over a goodly portion of this great city of York, and, through his archdeacons, over all Yorkshire.

  Yet it gnawed at him that William of Wykeham was poised to take the chancellor’s chain from round his neck. Why? With his increasingly uncertain relationship with King Edward, it should please him to see an escape.

  But it did not. He liked the power he wielded as Lord Chancellor. And he still hoped to guide the King in ruling his kingdom fairly and firmly. He had tasted too much power to be satisfied with just an archbishopric now.

  Owen was puzzled to be shown out into the palace garden. Thoresby sat on a bench near the cloister wall, arms crossed, legs stretched out before him, chatting with the gardener. The scene struck Owen as false, set up for a purpose. He wondered what Simon thought of this sudden friendliness.

  Simon looked up, saw Owen standing at the end of the path. ‘Captain Archer. Good day to you.’

  Owen nodded. ‘Simon. Your Grace.’ He strolled on down the path as Simon loaded his garden cart, prepared to make his escape. Lucky man.

  ‘Godspeed, Your Grace,’ Simon said, starting forward. He grinned at Owen as he reached him. ‘You’ll be a father before Martinmas, eh? Rest easy. Mistress Wilton is in good hands with the Riverwoman.’ He trundled on by.

  Thoresby drew in his legs and dusted off the front of his gown. ‘Is the training progressing well?’ He gestured for Owen to sit on his left.

  ‘Well enough,’ Owen said, settling down. Perverse of Thoresby to choose to meet in the garden on an overcast day.

  ‘Can Lief and Gaspare continue on their own?’

  Owen turned his good eye fully on the archbishop’s face. He was up to something. ‘I’ve a few more things to show them.’

  ‘Might that be done today?’ Thoresby turned to face Owen and shook his head with a mocking smile. ‘Why do you frown upon me with such ferocity?’

  Owen had not been prepared for such a blunt question. ‘’Tis the light, Your Grace. Though overcast, there is yet a glare out here.’

  Thoresby chuckled. ‘Evasion does not become you. I believe it is not the tasks I set you to: you enjoy the challenge. So it must be me. You disapprove of me.’

  ‘You send me after the truth for the wrong reasons.’

  The archbishop’s eyebrows rose. ‘And what reasons are those?’

  Lucie would tell Owen to mind his peace, the archbishop had been generous to them. But Lucie was not here. ‘Ambition and pride. You care nothing for the victims, you merely wish to restore order.’

  Thoresby crossed his arms, leaned back again, stretched out his legs. ‘It is my duty to keep the peace in my liberty.’

  ‘No doubt that is true.’ The conversation struck Owen as pointless. He changed the subject. ‘Why do you ask whether I can finish training Lief and Gaspare today?’

  Thoresby chuckled. ‘Back to the matter at hand. Fair enough. I want you to go to Leeds, speak with the Calverleys, find out all you can about Joanna.’

  ‘What is your interest in the matter?’

  ‘I must decide whether to order Dame Isobel to accept Joanna Calverley back in St Clement’s or whether to send the woman elsewhere. Before I impose the nun on anyone I must know whether she is in any way responsible for the deaths of Longford’s cook and his maid. Or Longford’s disappearance.’

  Owen nodded. He saw the sense in it. ‘Someone else might make the journey faster, Your Grace. I am off to Pontefract in a few days for the Duke of Lancaster.’

  ‘Leave tomorrow, stop in Leeds on the way.’

  Owen bit back a curse.

  ‘And take Sir Nicholas de Louth with you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He is a canon of Beverley and clerk to Prince Edward. He had been watching Longford’s house in Beverley for a long while.�
��

  ‘A churchman? What use will he be to me? If I must be off to Leeds, at least let me choose my travelling companions.’

  ‘He has requested this, Archer. And it has occurred to me that it would be good to have him with you at Pontefract. Lancaster will be interested in what Sir Nicholas has to say.’

  ‘Why does he wish to come?’

  ‘As I said, he has been watching Longford’s house. It seems a natural extension of the work he has been doing.’

  ‘Do you order me to take him?’

  Thoresby sighed. ‘If I must.’

  ‘Will he let me manage the Calverleys?’

  ‘I trust he will.’

  Owen saw no use in further argument. Thoresby had arranged it all before approaching him. As usual. ‘You saw Alfred and Colin last night?’

  ‘I did.’ Thoresby described their conditions and recounted what Alfred had told him. ‘I have sent Sir Nicholas’s men out to examine the site of the attack to find out what they can. Nicholas will give you a full account.’

  Owen rose. ‘Before I go, I should meet Joanna Calverley.’

  Thoresby gave a little bow. ‘Whatever you see fit.’

  Dame Joanna’s sole companion that morning was a maid, spinning to keep herself occupied. The young woman clutched her spindle to her lap as she rose to greet Owen, but before he could introduce himself a nun hurried in, waving her hands and spilling smiles as she approached.

  ‘Sit down, child,’ she trilled to the maid, who did so gladly. The nun was of an age with the Reverend Mother, but much comelier, with laughter lines radiating out from her eyes and mouth. ‘God go with you, Captain Archer. I am Dame Katherine. I have been assisting the infirmaress with Joanna.’ She fanned her face and beamed at him. ‘Such a warm day. You are here to speak with Dame Joanna?’

  Owen wondered at the wisdom of assigning this energetic woman to the infirmary. ‘I am off to see her family tomorrow. I thought she might have a message for them.’

  Katherine gave a little hop and clapped her hands. ‘How thoughtful! Let us see whether Joanna is awake. It is not always apparent.’ They moved towards the bed.

  Dame Joanna lay quietly, her hands folded over the covers. A white cap controlled the red hair, which Owen could see was curly and thick. Her skin was stark white, which made her freckles seem like a spray of tiny blemishes. Owen still stood beside the bed when Joanna opened her eyes. The vivid green surprised him.

  ‘Good morning, Joanna,’ Dame Katherine chirped. ‘You have a visitor. A Captain Archer.’

  Joanna boldly ran her eyes up and down, getting her fill of Owen. He felt oddly naked. A smile played round Joanna’s full lips. ‘A soldier? Visiting me? To what do I owe this delightful courtesy?’

  Owen thought neither of these women suited to the convent, one boisterous, the other flirtatious. He sank down on the stool Katherine had set behind him. ‘Tomorrow I travel to Leeds on business for the archbishop,’ he explained to Joanna. ‘His Grace thought you might wish me to carry a message to your kin.’ The moment the words were out, he remembered that her family had cast her out. Tripping on his own tongue again.

  Joanna’s smile froze. ‘My kin would hardly thank you for word of me, Captain. You shall find that my mother denies giving me birth.’

  Surely not so far. ‘How could a mother be so cruel?’

  Joanna made a dismissive sound, then smiled up at him. ‘How did you lose your eye?’ She reached stubby fingers up to clutch the air at the height of his scar. The movement disturbed her covers and revealed the blue mantle wrapped round her. ‘I should love you to lie with me.’

  ‘Joanna!’ Dame Katherine cried. ‘You forget your vows. And his. This is Mistress Wilton’s husband.’

  Joanna pouted. ‘What a pity.’ She dropped her hand, drew the mantle up round her chin. ‘Why should such a handsome couple trouble themselves with a Magdalene?’

  ‘A what?’

  Joanna closed her eyes. ‘Tell the family of my burial in Beverley. That should cheer them.’

  Owen leaned closer. ‘What did you mean about a Magdalene?’

  Joanna opened her eyes slowly, whispered something that Owen could not hear. He leaned closer. Her hand shot from under the covers, grabbed his vest, pulled him towards her. As Owen backed away, Joanna licked her lips.

  ‘I am a Magdalene, my sweet Captain,’ she murmured, and closed her eyes.

  Dame Katherine hustled Owen from the room. ‘Pray God forgive her. My apologies, Captain Archer. I have never seen her behave so.’

  ‘No matter. I was forewarned that she was a strange young woman.’

  Dame Katherine looked truly embarrassed, her hands flitting about as if looking for a discreet perch. ‘What must you think! And Mistress Wilton was so kind to her, I hear. You must not tell her what a wicked thing Joanna did.’

  ‘Has she said anything to you about what happened to her?’

  ‘She has spoken of the sea. And soldiers. What was it she said?’ Katherine dropped her chin and hugged herself, thinking, nodded a few times and looked up. ‘One night she spoke of young soldiers being drawn to the sea. Gathered by the sea.’ She shook her head. ‘Just phrases, you know. Nothing you can be sure of.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘One night when I sat with her she called for someone named Hugh. I thought at first she shouted “You!”, but she was confused when I asked what she needed. Hugh.’ Katherine nodded.

  ‘She said no more about him?’

  ‘Nothing. And when she waked, she just frowned when we asked of whom she had dreamed.’

  ‘I noticed that she wears the mantle she claims to be Our Lady’s.’

  Katherine glanced back towards the door. ‘Alas, we have not heard the last of that piece of cloth. Dame Margaret is convinced of her miraculous cure.’

  ‘Has she worked any miracles in your presence?’

  The brown eyes studied him frankly. ‘Captain, you do not believe such a woman would be so blessed by Our Heavenly Mother, do you?’

  Owen grinned. ‘I thought you might believe it.’

  The cheery face crinkled up in laughter. ‘Oh dear me no, Captain. And neither do these sober monks, praise God. But to answer your question as I believe you meant it, no, I have witnessed nothing that she has later claimed to be a miracle.’

  ‘And she has not tried to convince any of the monks?’

  Katherine frowned. ‘That is a different question. Yes, she takes every opportunity to claim it is a holy relic. Foolish child.’

  ‘She is hardly a child.’

  ‘A child within is what I meant, Captain. I believe Joanna is – simple. God forgive me, but that is what I think.’

  ‘You have been most helpful, Dame Katherine. I thank you.’

  Owen left the guest house gladly and headed for the infirmary, hoping Alfred might be awake. But both Alfred and Colin slept. ‘Has Colin wakened at all?’ Owen asked Brother Henry.

  The young monk sighed. ‘We assault him with chatter – prayers, stories, songs – but God has deemed fit to sink him deeper and deeper into sleep. He rewards our efforts not at all; not even a flicker of his lids.’

  ‘Have Louth’s men been to see Alfred?’

  Brother Henry nodded. ‘They seemed pleased with his description of the street and hurried off to question all those who live nearby.’

  ‘How are Alfred’s spirits?’

  ‘Low. He feels responsible.’

  ‘Pity he is not awake. I could ease his mind on that account – ’twas I recommended them for the duty.’

  Brother Henry shook his head, his young face solemn. ‘You must not blame yourself. Those who assaulted them are to blame, not you or Alfred.’

  Owen turned to leave.

  ‘I pray you stay a moment,’ Henry said. ‘I have something you should see.’ He led Owen to a chest by the fire, took out a dagger. ‘Alfred clutched this when he came in. He says he found it beneath Colin. He says it belongs to Colin’s murderer, though how anyone
can say in such an assault which blow was –’ Henry put his hand to his mouth. ‘Sweet Heaven, do you hear what we do? Both Alfred and I assume Colin will not wake.’ Henry crossed himself and bowed his head, murmuring a prayer.

  Owen moved into the lamplight, examined the dagger. The handle was intricately carved with sea serpents. Dark, heavy wood, not metal. It was not a costly weapon. But worn, treasured. Perhaps the owner would return for it? ‘Keep it safe, Brother Henry. It might be of use to us.’

  Lucie shook her head at Master Saurian, who was launching into an account of a particularly grisly amputation he had performed at St Leonard’s Hospital. Jasper sat on a stool behind Lucie, ready to reach for jars. Lucie did not wish the boy to overhear anything that might give him nightmares. He had enough of them as it was.

  Saurian sniffed. ‘The boy must learn about life, Mistress Wilton. You do him no favour sheltering him.’

  ‘He knows enough of life for now, Master Saurian.’ She stood poised over the scales on the counter with a jar of spice. ‘How much cardamom did you say?’

  Back in the kitchen, the garden door opened and closed. Voices murmured. Owen. Lucie glanced back at Jasper. ‘Go on, now. Owen will be glad of your company.’

  Jasper needed no more encouragement. He had begged permission to skip classes today when he had heard of Owen’s return.

  Lucie poured the last of the ingredients into a pouch.

  Saurian hefted it in his palm as if weighing it. ‘They say you have been to see the resurrected nun.’

  ‘The prodigal,’ Lucie corrected him. ‘Her death and burial were an act.’

  Saurian looked down his long nose. ‘What of the miracles?’

  Thank Heaven Jasper was out of the room. ‘I know of none.’

  Saurian shook his head. ‘You are a cautious one, Mistress Wilton.’